


The Library

by IEatBooksForTea



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9280016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IEatBooksForTea/pseuds/IEatBooksForTea
Summary: A relationship is made up of small, important moments. This is just a collection of a few of ours. A Oneshot Collection chronologically recording the relationship of Chris and Ashley from the moment they met up until post-game. All centered around one library. Other characters will feature. Rated T for possible later chapters.





	1. The Day We Met

**Author's Note:**

> This was slightly inspired by captain_murica's Chrashley oneshot collection 'Timeline'. Credit goes to them.

Chris' backpack scuffs across the library floor. His hands drag it around his feet - kicking it once or twice in the process - as he unenthusiastically lugs himself towards the Librarian's desk.

It is completely and utterly _not_ his fault why he's here. It started with Josh - as most of these things do. And then it was Josh and a sheet of paper. Then it was Josh and a sheet of paper and that scheming look on his face.

Needless to say, Chris was screwed. If anyone has known Josh long enough, they'll know he's not easily persuaded out of his ideas. Whether realistic or outrageous. Usually outrageous. If anyone has known _Chris_ long enough, they'll know it's particularly hard for him to say _no_ to said ideas. Damn you, Josh.

So picture the scene. Josh has equipped himself with a DIY, recyclable snowball - aka, a scrunched up piece of paper - and has shoved another in Chris' fist. He says it'll be funny. He says to aim for the rubbish bin. He says it'll be like one of those trick shots. He says it'll be awesome. He says they'll throw it together.

He says Chris has to pay him five dollars if he doesn't do it.

And so, complete with glares in Josh's direction, Chris clambers atop his chair, equipped with his weapon of choice (paper snowball as previously referenced). Josh cheers, followed by a ripple of wolf whistles throughout the room. So much for throwing them together. With an inhale of breath, Chris rolls his shoulder, zoning in on the bin situated right at the front of the classroom, right beside the teacher's desk. He rolls his arm like he's doing shot put. And the students around him thump they're hands on their desks in a drum roll.

And Chris lobs the paper snowball. Just as the door opens. Just as the teacher strolls in. Just as the room suddenly quietens. Just as Chris stares in widening alarm as the paper snowball collides straight into the teacher's face.

Which, for the record, was nowhere near the bin.

Who ever thought it was a good idea to get the guy who is clearly as blind as a figurative bat (because real bats actually have really good eyesight)? Chris couldn't hit a target a metre from his face.

The teacher's head swivels around like an owl and he fixes his laser beam stare right at Chris. Maybe it would have looked better for him if he hadn't been standing on his chair. Maybe he would have had time to slam back into his seat and feign ignorance. Maybe he could pretend it never happened. But instead, like the shocked deer he is, he just chuckles nervously, shrugs slowly and tries to pass it all under a grin.

"Christopher Hartley," the teacher snarls, his nose wrinkling not unlike the paper snowball that had just hit his face. Chris shrinks away, wincing at the use of his full name. And, at this point, he would very much like to have glared at Josh. Though that would definitely earn him a cheeky, smug grin in return.

And then his teacher jabs his finger decidedly in the direction of the door. "Detention. Now!"

"Uh," Chris shoves his hands into his jean pockets, dropping his backpack on the ground at his feet. The librarian is staring exclusively at her computer screen. Which is pretty rude. She could at least acknowledge his existence.

"S'cuse me?" He tries again. No response. Just the click click clicking of her fingers on the keys. Maybe this is one of those 'ring bell for assistance' moments. He glances around the desk, eyes scouring for a bell that evidently doesn't exist. He could resort to just rapping his knuckles on the wooden desk counter. Or he could start threatening to borrow a book and refuse to bring it back until it's four weeks overdue. Or maybe he should just grab a nearby book and start ripping out the pages one by one. That would get her attention.

Then her eyes snap up. And suddenly he regrets even wishing she'd look at him. Because she's glaring at him with the most unimpressed, seething expression.

He almost stumbles back.

"Can I _help_ you?" she asks slowly and bitterly, raising two very thin, very scrawny eyebrows. Seriously, you'd think the school would hire someone a bit more enthusiastic than this.

"Uh, yeah," Chris knocks himself out of his trance, attempting a smile and gesturing casually at himself. "I'm the, uh, detention guy." The Detention Guy. Like he has been prophesied in the ancient scriptures of legend. And endless generations upon generations of Librarians have been eagerly, impatiently awaiting his arrival. _'Your coming was foretold in the ancient scrolls, oh Detention One!'_

"Right..." the snippy voice of the librarian yanks Chris out of his own, wild day dreams. She huffs through her nose, disconnecting her judging eyes from his. Wait. What? Shouldn't she be more shocked? This - This is not the face of a person who gets into detention very often. This is the face of innocence! She seriously doesn't think he looks like a detention kind of guy... does she?

By the time he's almost ready to cradle his face, terrified that he suddenly looks like mobster, the librarian pulls herself out of her wheelie chair - which, for the record, is definitely the best part of being a librarian - and grumbles as she disappears under the desk.

Okay. Seriously, she should have at least told him that she kept a portal to Narnia stashed under there. If she really wanted to get away from him that badly, she honestly could have just told him to go away. She didn't need to go to _that_ drastic a measure.

But then she pops her head back up - which almost makes him stumble back in fright - and shoves two items into his hands.

Chris stares down in horror at the two weapons she's bestowed upon him. A half used spray can of polish and a duster. Great.

"Go," the librarian drawls, stabbing wildly into the air with her pointy finger, "Dust those shelves over there." Or something.

Reluctantly, Chris swivels his head round to stare upon an endless bay of high reaching wooden shelves, fully stocked with rows and rows of very _non_ -enthralling books. Chris let's put a reluctant sigh. He's pretty sure the shelves stretch all the way to the end of the elongated room and beyond. They probably do end somewhere in Narnia.

"You got it," Chris attempts to hide his lack of enthusiasm under a grin, clicking his tongue and, in his handful of duster, points a finger gun in her direction.

Which he immediately regrets. Because he's pretty sure she just murdered him with her eyes.

"I'll, uh, go then," Chris jabs his thumb in the direction of his newly designated shelves, inching away slowly. She gives him a look that says, _'Yeah, you do that.'_

And so, here he is, shoved into the unloved part of the library. Resorted to destroying the dust that these so malnourished books thrive off of. How can the librarian live with herself, knowing she's letting him bulldoze such precious habitats? He snorts. He has created a system; pick up books, make it look like he's dusting the shelves underneath, put books back, move on, repeat.

In the time he has been here, he has read Great Expectations, War and Peace and the complete works of Shakespeare. Okay, maybe just the titles. But that counts, right?

Chris is halfway through the books of Charles Dickens when he hears a little voice beside him; "Excuse me."

Chris turns. He has to look down to see the figure there, red hair striding down her shoulders, a pile of books perched in her arms. A girl.

Chris can hear the little devil version of Josh perched on his shoulder, wolf whistling into Chris' ear. Chris swats him away with his hand.

"Thanks," she smiles as Chris steps aside. And he watches - totally not like a stalker - as she perches onto her tip toes, book in hand, trying to squeeze it into a space on the top shelf.

"Wait," Chris finally kicks himself forward, reaching forward. "I got it," he smiles (and prays it doesn't look goofy), plucking the book out of her hand and easily slotting it into place on the top shelf. Being tall has its perks.

"Oh," the girl responds, looking as surprised as Chris feels. "Thanks," she repeats, before swivelling around and pacing away.

"So," Chris calls out. He suddenly doesn't want her to leave. She's certainly better company than Mrs. Grumpy-Librarian over there, and she's a lot more talkative than his new book friends.

She glances back at him, her little, green eyes blinking. Looking expectant. Waiting on him to speak. To say something worthwhile.

Chris cringes inwardly - he was never one to talk to the ladies - before scrambling some words together. "You in for detention too?"

She narrows her eyes, like suddenly she recognises his type. Which is totally _not_ his type. As previously stated. _Not_ the type to get into detention.

A quietly teasing smirk hovers on Chris' lips as he raises a single eyebrow; "What you do? Shout out in class? Break a table? Run around naked across the soccer field?"

She certainly doesn't _look_ the type. Not that Chris would know anything.

Her eyes squeeze even narrower. "No," she says slowly, her expression not even twitching. Deadpan. "I volunteer here."

What?

"Wait," Chris gawks at her, holding his hand up in the air as if to stop time so he can process this. "You're telling me," he says slowly like he's trying to compute what she's just said, "that you do this _willingly_?"

"Yes," she says bluntly, her eyebrows wrinkling as if to say, _'Is there a problem with that?'_

Chris' face crumbles in mock-despair. He throws his head back, shaking his fists in the air; "What is this world _coming_ to?"

She stares at him for a few seconds. And then she snorts, covering her laugh with her hand.

Chris grins smugly back. It's generally the same face he makes any time he makes someone laugh. Except this time, it's wider.

"What did _you_ do?" the girl hooks her pile of books at her hip – she looks quite the expert at it – and raises her eyebrows at him. Her lips quirk with the tiniest of teasing smiles. And Chris knows she's expecting some elaborate, impressive story. Which throwing a paper ball at a bin and missing – while hitting the teacher in the process – definitely wasn't.

So he was going to have to come up with something a bit better than that.

But all he could think of was that he was an international spy and they'd figured it out. Which definitely wouldn't pass.

"Um," he coughs awkwardly, his lips twitching. He scrambles his brain for something, spitting out the first thing that comes to mind – which sounds suspiciously like something Josh would say. "I stole your heart?"

She sputters, a laugh shooting out of her mouth. She almost loses grip of her books. Which is basically like book sacrilege. "Don't ever say that line again," she grins widely, her eyes creasing heartily at the corners. And, despite the obvious rejection, Chris can't help but grin back.

He swipes his fingers across his lips. "Zipped," he assures her, nodding.

"I'll hold you to that," she keeps smiling at him. Even as the Librarian snips at them to shut it. Even as the girl keeps watching him as she steps away. Even as she stumbles back on the leg of a table, her books tumbling in a mess on the ground. Even as Chris jumps forward to help her pick them up – totally not mentioning the book sacrilege thing. Even as she insists she's fine, her cheeks flared up bright red. Even as she scrambles to pick them up, scurrying away.

Even as he catches a glimpse of her glancing at him before she disappears into another isle.

He grins uncontrollably as he turns back to his shelves. And suddenly the books don't look all that boring any more. Even as he picks them up, pretends to dust the shelves, puts them back, moves on, repeats and-

Wait.

He freezes.

He forgot to ask her name.


	2. The Day We Met. Again.

_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife._

Ashley glances up from the pages of the book she has stolen – temporarily, of course - from the shelves of the library. She smiles whimsically, feeling the comfortable blankets of her favourite novel wrap around her again. The characters of Elizabeth Bennett and Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Bennett and Charles Bingley surround her again, tittering in her ears, retelling their stories over and over.

The world swirls around her in the colours of endless tales all wrapped in the bindings of books. Mr Darcy sweeps her up into a dance, weaving her in between library shelves, her giggling as he passes her onto a daring Peter Pan who fights pirates with her and flies her through the air with pixie dust. And then he drops her down into a rabbit hole where she drinks tea with a mad hatter and plays croquet with flamingos and-

Her feet trip over themselves, her eyes flying up from her book. She hisses, the book almost cluttering out of her hands. Her fingers grab for it. She lets out a long, relieved breath as she catches it, clutching it to her chest. Internally apologising to it. She'd been trying to keep a low profile – what with her supposed to be working instead of reading – and had been lurking around the dusty parts at the back of the library.

It had been a great idea at first when she'd first approached the school about volunteering at their library during her free period. It would give her extra credit and would look great on her resume – especially when applying to college. Plus, she'd be surrounded by things she loved.

But, at the time, she hadn't realised that the things she loved would be such a distraction for her.

She shouldn't have been surprised. Compared to the large expansing adventures of her books, Ashley's life was nowhere near as exciting.

Sighing wistfully, Ashley turns the corner into the next isle.

And stops short.

He's here.

Mister "I stole your heart" guy. He'd been here yesterday, looking about as familiar with books as a fish is with climbing a tree. Which is kind of appropriate. Since books are pieces of trees.

He's currently staring quizzically at the blurb on the back of a copy of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Ashley giggles quietly at the creases of confusion across his forehead.

Which is clearly not quiet enough. Because he instantly glances up, catching sight of her.

For a moment, she thinks he's going to call her out for – possibly, maybe – watching him, and accuse her of stalking. But then he just holds the book up in the air with an incredulous look on his face. "This is a _book_?" He gawks at her across the space between them, eyes narrowing, confused. "I thought this was just a movie." He glances at the book in his hand as if he's just discovered a national secret and he doesn't know what to do with it.

Ashley sniggers. Her feet take a few steps forward, keeping him in her sights. "And," she pitches it, feeling smug. Feeling brave, "Did you know that Frankenstein is actually the name of the doctor, not the monster?"

His eyes widen behind his black rimmed glasses. "No _way_ ," his jaw practically falls off. Ashley laughs at his exaggeration. He notices, smirking behind his shock. "Then- what's the name of the monster?"

Ashley shrugs. As if it's one of the world's most unanswerable questions. _How did the universe begin? What is the meaning of life? Did Frankenstein's monster have a name?_

"Nobody knows," she whispers mysteriously, waving her hand in the air.

His eyebrows raise and he snickers. Before turning back to the book. "Poor guy," he mutters under his breath, consoling the book through his eyes. He pats it comfortingly with his hand before sliding it back onto the shelf.

Ashley isn't sure what it is that pulls her towards him. Maybe it's because of how friendly he seems. Or maybe because, unlike a lot of guys, he's not intimidating. He's not one of the jocks. Or maybe it's because, for a brief moment, she feels smarter than him.

"I don't think," she starts, feeling a teasing smile creep up her lips. Which is totally not like her. What is he doing to her? "He should be the one we should be worried about."

Mr. Glasses Guy just raises his eyebrows, curiously tugging them up. _'Oh yeah?'_ his eyes question.

Her lips flutter with a smile and he almost looks worried.

"What are you doing here?" she probes him.

"What?" he splutters, glancing around as if to find someone to defend him. But the isles are as empty as the school building at the beginning of Summer. And Ashley's pretty sure the Librarian is already asleep. "A library? In a school I go to? Totally normal."

Ashley coughs. "In the middle of class?" she raises her eyebrows knowingly. Her eyes catch him fumbling with his words and she can't help but giggle.

"Fine," he mutters under his breath, shoulders drooping with a sigh. "I got detention again. Accidentally." He pauses, daring to glance up at her. His smile is sheepish. "On purpose."

Ashley's lips are caught mid-word. She was about to tease this nameless student on how he was making a habit of getting into detention, and what he could possibly be doing to get there, when she'd heard his words.

She retracts, suddenly aware of the proximity of her and this complete and utter stranger. She completely forgot that she didn't even know him. For a few minutes, she felt like they had been friends since they were children. "Oh," she breathes out quietly, her lips hovering around the sound for a few brief seconds.

The smile on his lips slackens. And suddenly everything seems so quiet.

She shoots an abrupt laughs into the air. It's too loud and sharp. Ashley swears at herself. "You must like the library a heck of a lot," Ashley chuckles, though she hears her voice crack. What the heck is she doing?

"Yeah," the guy smiles, a mix between a scoff and a laugh. Though his eyes have faded with an unsure, tentative look. "The library..."

Suddenly the space between the two of them feels like an aching cavern. In an instant, she's acutely aware of how little they know about each other. And how easy she felt around him.

Seriously, Ashley, he could have been a serial killer. You don't know!

Ashley inhales, stepping away. "Anyway," she gestures vaguely to somewhere behind her. "I should be getting back to... what I was doing..."

He nods, an aware smile on his lips. "Right," he nods. "Your volunteering stuff."

Her feet keep stumbling back, step by step away from him. "Keep up with the," Ashley waves her hand in his general direction, cringing at the way she's fumbling, "dusting. Good job."

He grins, half snorting as he waves his duster at her. "You got it," he assures her. And she can't be sure because of the lens of his glasses but she's pretty sure he just winked at her.

Ashley takes that as a cue to spin around, instantly hiding her face in her hands. What the hell was _that_?She is completely and utterly convinced that her cheeks are flaming. Her voice consistently curses at herself. Embarrassing much?

"Hey," a voice calls out behind her.

Crap.

Ashley sheepishly turns back around, seeing him still watching her. She tries to smile. She tries to not act like an idiot.

"I," he tries his words out, looking hopeful, a smile balancing on his lips, "didn't catch your name?"

She almost lets out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness it's an easy question to answer. She isn't exactly prepared to deal with anything along the lines of, _What's the meaning of life? Did Frankenstein's monster have a name? Why are you blushing like an idiot?_

Ashley lets herself smile, her gaze lingering on his. And maybe, for once, her life isn't as unexciting as she first thought.

"I'm Ashley."

* * *

Okay. So _maybe_ he'd gotten detention again on purpose.

Besides, mathematics deserves to be debated so fervently in class that he just _had_ to use curse words. Josh had stared at Chris like he'd just transformed into another person when Chris had shot up in class and started reeling off the words like they were oxygen. Chris doesn't think his teacher has ever heard Pythagoras' Theorem been described with the _F_ word before _and_ afterwords. And filtered in multiple times throughout.

Needless to say, Chris was instantly sent to detention. Sure, it had taken a lot out of him to convince the faculty adviser to let him serve his detention in the library. Again. She had looked at him very suspiciously but, in the end, had agreed.

And so Chris had swept into the library, grabbing the duster and polish from the librarian before she could object, and had weaved his way through the shelves, his eyes constantly looking out for _her_.

He'd been hoping that when she said she volunteered here, that meant she was here on a regular basis. But more importantly, on the same day, at the same time Chris was here. After he had put so much effort in.

He hadn't been wrong. She'd turned up, half hiding at the end of the isle, watching him with those green eyes of hers. Not in a creepy way. It was rather cute, to be honest.

He'd become completely distracted from his cleaning.

"I'm Ashley," she finally tells him her name, a smile dusting her lips like icing sugar.

He instantly smiles back.

Like Ashley from Mass Effect.

Like one half of the Olsen twins.

Like that one actress from High School Musical.

What? Hannah and Beth had forced both him and Josh to watch it with them ages ago. And by ages ago, he means last week.

It takes Chris a totally of one minute to realise that he's actually supposed to introduce himself around about now.

"Chris," he finally says, gesturing to himself and laughing under his breath. And he watches as Ashley relaxes. He can almost read her mind. _Okay, Chris is a normal name. Chris is good._ _I'm okay with Chris._ "Nice to meet you."

She giggles and, okay, that's adorable. Has anyone told her that's adorable? She slips away not long after that. Something about needing to do her work. Which is fine. Because he now has a name to a face.

Which means he can now stalk her on facebook.

Or you know, not seem like a total creep when he speaks to her next.

With one of those inevitable smiles on his face, he returns to his punishment of cleaning. But the bookshelves of the library suddenly seem a lot more alive and interesting to him now that he associates them with _her_.

He wonders how many secret facts she knows about each one. About how many she's read and re-read.

He chuckles to himself, sliding _Frankenstein_ back out of it's slot on the shelf. Maybe he should actually read this some time. Instead of just watching the movie.

She'd probably laugh at all the inconsistencies and throw popcorn at the screen and-

Hey. That's not such a bad idea.

Doesn't Josh have a copy of the movie hidden around somewhere?

Okay, he's convinced. Grinning like an idiot, he turns and heads towards the librarian's desk, book clutched in hand.

Christopher.

You are a genius.


	3. The Day We Read Shakespeare

 

 

 

Christopher.

You are _not_ a genius.

He rubs the irritated flesh on either side of his nose where his glasses had been resting a moment ago. His unfocused eyes stare frustratedly at the English assignment laid out in front of him. His eyes had begun to hurt with his glasses on. Now they hurt even more with them off.

Chris is a logical mind. He excels almost effortlessly in subjects like math and physics. Give him a computer science paper and he'll get an A without even breathing. But when it comes to anything remotely... _right brain_ (disclaimer: not that he supports the term. It's an obvious myth), he's a complete and utter flop.

With a groan, Chris slides his glasses back. As much as he wants to ignore it, he has to actually be able to read the homework to complete it.

"What did Shakespeare mean," He reads aloud, squinting at the small, black printed words on the page, "by ' _The course of true love never did run smooth_ '?" His mouth makes an incredulous, confused and highly exasperated motion. "I don't _know_ ," he exclaims, burying his face in his hands. He had to write a two thousand word _essay_ on this? _'Don't forget to include cultural context,'_ his teacher had stated in front of the whole class, _'as well as story context.'_

Chris faceplants the desk, mumbling into his arms and shrugging exhaustedly, "Give up on dating? Become a hermit? Stock up on instant noodles and netflix?" He grumbles, the sound muffled against the wood of the desk. His glasses are digging into the corners of his eyes where they knock against the desk and he affirmatively regrets ever putting them back on.

The library had been the first place he'd thought of when he'd realised he only had a week left to finish the assignment. Okay, so he'd been avoiding it. But no living human being can resist the call of Call of Duty. Or the call of a persistent best friend.

So the library had been the best option. Mainly because hardly anybody ever visits it. Maybe because he knows he wouldn't be able to focus at home. Maybe because there are plenty of tables here to go around. Maybe because the librarian just happened to have a day off that day.

It totally had nothing to do with a particular redhead that might be lurking around here somewhere.

Just at that, somebody flops down beside him. He hears the sound of the creaking, library chair. "Having a tough time there, Romeo?"

A long, desperate sigh drags out of Chris' mouth as he rolls his head to the side, spotting a slightly smug Ashley.

"Don't start," he rolls back around, committing himself to burying himself into the desk. Though there's a ripple of relief that relaxes him. Just a bit. Just a tad.

Ashley chuckles, plucking the sheet of paper – the one that has been the causing all this agony for him – out from under his elbows. "What have we got here?" she hums and he can vividly imagine her excruciatingly examining it. Like she's Sherlock Holmes. She'll probably pull out a magnifying glass and deerstalker hats while she's at it.

Then Chris hears her let out a short laugh. "Is this _it?_ " she half snorts – which is rather cute, despite the fact that she's mocking him.

Chris rocks himself up from the table, planting his shocked, narrowing eyes at her. "Do not mock me," he warns, though his tone wobbles with the teasing, almost-giggling look on her face. "Just because _you're_ an literature prodigy. Don't look down on us _meagre_ mortals."

She grins. It is too wide for her face and Chris kind of likes that. It's proud and confident and that's not something he sees often on her. For the time he's known her.

"Look," Ashley goes into explaining mode. "It's not that hard. Remember when we watched that Frankenstein movie and you just happened to get an essay on it the next day?"

Right. That had been about a month ago, not long after they'd met. He'd used the excuse that he wanted to give her an opportunity to tell him everything that, compared to the book, is wrong with the movie. It had inevitably helped. He had avoided mentioning any Igor's in his essay. After Ashley had stated – multiple times – that Frankenstein (the doctor, not the monster, as previously learned) had no assistant. _Especially_ not one called Igor.

He'd actually managed to get a B-. By some miracle.

Thank you, Igor!

"Are you saying," Chris says slowly, annunciating each syllable. And he eyes her as if she's just declared treason against king and country, "that I should watch the _movie_?" He fakes a loud gasp, clasping his hand to his chest. Isn't that basically literature sacrilege? Isn't that what all English teachers are sworn against?

Ashley scoffs. "No," she rolls her eyes, her lips wide with a laugh. He thought as much. But, despite the harrowing circumstances, he can't help but grin back.

"I _mean_ ," she says pointedly, pushing herself up from the desk and striding across the library, knowing _exactly_ where she's going. He watches her curiously. But not curiously enough to stand up. He's still wallowing in his own self-pity.

Reaching up, her hand slides a book from one of the shelves on the other side of the room and she spins around to proudly display it to him. If his eyesight was good enough, he'd probably be able to make out the title. But he _can't_ miss the huge portrait of William Shakespeare slapped on the cover. He groans.

But he can't groan too much when she's looking so perky and bright and proud with the book in her hand.

"Shakespeare never intended his plays to be _read_ ," she calls out across the library and the echoing dustiness of her voice just reminds him of how empty the library is. "He intended for them to be _performed_."

Chris instantly starts shaking his head, curling himself against the back of the chair. Oh no. Oh no, she's not going to suggest-

She grins so widely that he fears her cheeks are going to burst. And her next words are spoken with such gusto, such enthusiasm, that he's fully prepared to run away. To run away, forget his education and _really_ live as a hermit – on instant noodles and netflix. Because he really doesn't want to say no. Not when she looks so hopeful.

Damn it. Thanks, Shakespeare.

"Read the material," she practically dances on her feet, "in a way you're going to _enjoy."_

* * *

"Wasn't I supposed to _enjoy_ this?" Chris huffs uncomfortably, a copy of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream in his hand. The good thing about school libraries, Ashley thinks, is that they usually carry multiple copies of classics. Especially if an English class is going to be teaching on it.

"Shh," Ashley throws the sound into the air amidst giggles. And then she lunges herself onto the nearest table, one hand gripping her own copy of the book, the other swiping an invisible sword through the air. Which is totally not relevant for the scene. But it adds to the imagination, don't you think?

"Belike for want of rain, which I could tell," she proclaims into the stillness of the library, practically seeing dust floating in her breath. She half reads, half remembers her lines.

She had quickly divided up the parts between her and Chris. It had just happened that Lysander had fallen to Chris, and Ashley had taken Hermia. In Ashley's eyes, the story between the two characters was still tragic, despite Shakespeare's intention for the play to be a comedy. A story of two lovers; a girl who desperately loved a man who ultimately fell for another. It was rather appropriate in the situation.

"Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes!" And she immediately flings her sword hand over her eyes – which, if the sword had been real, would have definitely ended in some bloodshed and someone being sent to ER.

For a moment, Chris is silent. And Ashley is completely prepared to give him a swift nudge in the side – or elsewhere – to get him into action, when he stiffly drawls, "Ay me. For aught that I could ever read, could ever hear by tale or history, blah blah blah, aren't you supposed to be working or something right now?"

Ashley drops her hand and stares blatantly down at him. She's entirely tempted to snap at him, to yap at him for not finishing his line. And then she sees the puppy-dog look of confusion on his face and she can't help but smile. "No," her eyes crinkle at the edges as they glimmer at him. "Despite what you might think, I actually _enjoy_ reading."

"Wait," he scoffs, though Ashley can hear the laughter in his voice. And she's internally glad he's relaxed to her. "You come here for fun, _too_?" He gawks up at her and she giggles. She's quite proud of being rather tall compared to him now that she's taken the table as her platform. "You, my dear Ashley," he says slowly and complimentary, "are an enigma."

Ashley giggles, flicking the ends of her red hair off her shoulder. "I pride myself on it. Now," she flicks her hand in his general direction. "Finish your line."

A huff escapes his lips, but it is not so edged with reluctance now. And his eyes drop back to the surface of his book. "The course of true love never did run smooth- _hey_ ," his eyes spark as he glances up at her. And his face brightens as things begin to shift and move in his head, "that's _my_ line."

She grins, biting her lip proudly, before flicking her hand to encourage him to continue. With a lot more gusto, he returns to the page, "But, either it was different in blood,-"

"O cross!" Ashley exclaims, chiming in to interrupt him. And then, with a spark of imagination, which tended to happen quite often with her, Ashley hollers into the air, "The floor is lava!"

Chris' eyes grow wide in shock and horror right before he swears dramatically. "Crap dammit," he exclaims, before lunging onto the nearest table. But, for a moment, it's not difficult to catch the glimpse of childlike gleam in his eyes.

In a fit of giggles and out of breath laughter, they relay and shout their interchanging lines at each other as they jump from table to table, crossing the length of the library. Almost like a verbal sword fight, lunging at each other with Shakespearean words.

"Keep promise, love," Chris puffs out between his lines, mid grin. And Ashley is pleased that, for a little bit, he's at least enjoying himself. She has almost forgotten about the essay that has led them to this point. "Look!" He points off somewhere in the distance. "Here comes Helena."

And, just then, the library door swings open. Appropriate timing.

" _Chris?!_ " A pretty blonde-headed girl peers into the library, gawking at him.

Ashley's jaw is frozen stiff. Who is this? A sister? A _girlfriend_? She very much hopes it's not the latter.

Chris topples from his table in a clatter, looking flustered as he tries to straighten himself. And he clutches his book behind his back like it's a loaded weapon. His chest heaves with breaths, his cheeks red from running.

"Hi Sam," he waves stiffly at her as if he's a kid who's just been caught opening the cookie jar.

Behind him, Ashley attempts to silently slip down from her table. But she can't help feeling the flickering eyes of this Sam girl pass over her.

An amused snort escapes the blonde girl's nose, and Ashley catches her raising her eyebrows. Ashley feels her cheeks flair up and she would very much like to hide around about now.

"Sorry," the girl called Sam laughs teasingly and Ashley sees the way Chris' shoulders shift. "I didn't know I was _interrupting_ something."And Ashley is pretty certain she sees the girl wink.

"Ah, no," Chris buts in, reaching out as if to stop this girl's words from reaching them. "We weren't-"

"Josh is looking for you." That's the Sam girl. She says it solemnly this time. And Ashley feels a lurch in her stomach.

Chris shakes his head, confused. And Ashley suddenly feels like she's eavesdropping into a private conversation. "Josh doesn't look for people," Chris says so plainly. Ashley wonders who this Josh is. And how important he is in Chris' life.

Sam sighs and she steps forward. Just enough to be in the room, just enough to keep the door open.

"Fine," she huffs. "I'm looking for you _for_ him."

A look of realisation passes over Chris' face. It's kind of hard to miss.

"I'm coming," he says plainly. Like he completely understands. Ashley catches Sam nodding, before her eyes glance over at Ashley. And she smiles. Ashley doesn't know what else to do but smile back.

Then Chris is turning around and thanking Ashley. And she's nodding. And he's handing her the book and she's insisting that he take it – she'll sort out the loan paperwork. He needs it for his essay.

"See you again?" he asks, as he's stepping backwards towards the door

"Sure," she smiles as she curves herself around a bookshelf. He smiles hopefully, saluting her with his book. And, before she realises it, something has pushed words out of her mouth; "Maybe I could help you out with writing that essay?"

Relief fills her when she sees Chris smile brightly – though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Now that something else has taken it's place.

"It's a date," he says so casually and, despite the fact that he visibly regrets it, Ashley glows with excitement at the phrasing.

Even as he backs out of the room, barely breaking eye contact. Even as the Sam girl leaves. Even as the door swings closed.

Even as she presses her back against a bookshelf and allows herself to dream.


	4. The Day We Texted

Chris slumps further down his bed, aimlessly flicking through apps on his phone in the half dark. The glow sticks to his cheeks and flicks off his glasses, tinting his gaze. He puffs out a sigh. He knows its been a long day when he ends up resorting to knocking over a hoard of green pigs in angry birds.

It turns out that Josh – despite Sam's insistent look – had _not_ been in immediate danger. Nor was he being abducted by aliens, despite what his sisters might have wished. Or Chris. Nope. He'd just ended up in the principle's office – again.

Chris had run into him when Josh had been stuffing his face with a three tiered hamburger in the school cafeteria. He was equipped with a victorious grin on his face and a busted hand.

"Okay, what happened?" Chris had slapped down into the seat across from his best friend, eyes unimpressed and exhausted. "I thought you'd threatened to attack the kitchen lady again."

"Hey," Josh chewed in between a huge bite of burger and onions. He had pointed a greasy finger towards Chris – which Sam, who was unabashedly lurking behind them, had visibly cringed at. "For the record, I was five. And she burned my fries."

Chris snorted, half smirking. He knew he should be annoyed. Or at least partly worried about his friend's well being. Given that this so called 'event of desperation' according to Sam had torn him from a very important redhead.

"Hey," Josh grinded his jaw mid chew, before swallowing. His eyes had lit up like two huge light bulbs. "It's Sam," he perked up, catching a glimpse of the blonde behind Chris – who, last time Chris had checked, had looked pretty unimpressed. And was there a flash of worry? Maybe that was on behalf of Hannah.

"Don't change the subject," Chris rolled his eyes, sighing exhaustedly. Sam had told him that Josh had ended up in the principle's office – something to do with punching another guy in the face. Which, to be honest, Chris hadn't been immediately that shocked at. Josh was, admittedly, a terrible, indisputable, bad influence. And, therefore, Chris was vicariously living through him. "You could have been expelled."

"But," Josh had said so easily, so matter-factly with a simple shrug, "I wasn't." Then he'd smirked at a passing girl who seemed to half scoff and half check him out. Sam snorted. Chris had groaned.

Then Josh had taken another big bite from his hamburger, flitting easy eyes towards Sam, nose twitching; "Why is he being like this?" He pouted, relentlessly chewing.

And then Chris had immediately sensed the grin creeping up Sam's face – and the reddening flush slipping up his own neck. Sam coughed, smiling wildly. Chris wanted to hide.

"He was with a _girl_."

With a groan, Chris lets the screen of his cellphone fall on top of his face, embarrassment tugging at his red ears again. Mid-hamburger, Josh had looked at him like he was an alien who had just discovered another species. And right then Chris had decided to hide himself off on an island somewhere, breed dinosaurs and call it Jurassic Park. Just so he could get away from his mocking best friend – and apparently a mocking Sam too.

Chris will now never be able to casually mention heading to the library again. Knowing Josh, he'd probably turn it into some rude euphemism.

With a huff, Chris squeezes his eyes shut.

And then his phone immediately vibrates on top of his face.

"Ah!" He jumps, the phone tumbling to the floor with a thump. A yelping swear word escapes his mouth before he rolls over, scrambling for the phone, and cradling it to his chest as if it's his own biological son.

And then he sees the text that has flashed up on the screen.

ASHLEY: _How's that essay going?_

Immediately, a subconscious grin creeps up his face. Okay, maybe he'll put off that Jurassic Park building. Just, you know, for a bit.

Quickly, Chris thumbs out an instant message, sending it off with a buzz.

CHRIS: _It's going_

And then, jumping off his bed and heading towards his barely used desk, he attaches a screenshot of the Word file that has been sitting open on his laptop for the last two hours. A whole page worth of nothingness.

A smile twitches on Chris' lips as he watches her type.

Then;

ASHLEY: _How very productive of you._

* * *

CHRIS: _Ikr_

Ashley giggles, pouring over her cellphone screen. She is supposed to be studying. She had started, huddling herself inside an igloo of study books. And yet, when she'd sat down and flipped open her science workbook, her mind had instinctively wandered. Like a tangent or a breaking stream. And she'd started thinking about stories and Shakespeare and particular events within the past day. And weeks. And month.

It turns out a certain chemistry-loving, glasses-wearing guy is more interesting than chemistry itself. At least the school subject kind.

ASHLEY: _What are you doing besides writing that glorious essay of yours?_

Ashley had always made a point while texting that she would always use the correct spelling and grammar. Sure, it takes a few more seconds to write but if she's going to be a published author someday, she has to at least keep her image right across all platforms. Professionalism.

CHRIS: _u know, slaying pigs, saving the world_

A whimsical, flick of a smile tugs on Ashley's lips, feeling her cheeks flush. Angry birds again. Not that Chris had mentioned it much in her company – it's not exactly a typically romantic subject. But while she had been hiding within the library, she'd caught him sneaking his phone out of his pocket and playing a few levels – while he was supposed to be studying, she might add.

And, okay, maybe he hadn't known she was watching. And maybe he didn't know she'd focused in on the way his tongue slipped out when he was concentrating too hard.

And maybe, just maybe, she definitely wasn't stalking him.

Unless Twitter stalking counts. Because she's _definitely_ been twitter stalker him.

ASHLEY: _Impressive._

CHRIS: _do u always do that_

The text pings through.

Her stomach drops, flipping with a familiar jolt of anxiety. She stares at the text on the screen. What does that even been? What did she do wrong? Did she _do_ something wrong?

Frustrated at her over-active, worrying mind, she quickly gives herself a therapy session of "stop worrying so much, Ashley," and instantly taps out; _What?_

CHRIS: _Put periods at the end of all ur txts?_

Oh.

Is that all?

Something faint flickers on her lips.

She lets out a long, relieved breath. A chuckle escapes her lips – laughing at and mocking her again. Knocking on her anxiety again. And yet her stomach isn't sure whether to burst into a swarm of bees or whether to relax into a cloud of pillows.

She bites her lower lip, her thumb hovering over the letters on her cellphone screen. They stare back at her, daring her to respond, blinking their little dots above their ' _i'_ s.

She plunges, typing out a simple " _No._ "

The period pops up. Taunting and black and blinking. She laughs. A real, hearty laugh.

Chris is right. She _does_ always do that.

With warmth-filled eyes and something fluttering in her heart, she deletes what she has typed and rewrites;

ASHLEY: _. No_

A cheeky smile tugs on her lips. Something that her face is not used to. Chris seems to be doing that a lot to her lately.

ASHLEY: _I put it at the beginning that time._

CHRIS: _I saw that_

CHRIS: _._

The text pings through like a chorus from heaven.

Ashley glows, staring at the singular dot on her screen. She chuckles at it, at the bizarre presence of it. At how amusing it is in this situation. It's like he's sent her a gift through this phone screen. Like he's compromising.

She likes that.

She likes him.

Immediately, she shakes her head. Flecks of hair bat against her cheeks. Don't be stupid, Ashley. You barely even know him.

Even then, her fingers are automatically typing out the question that she'd wanted to ask all along.

She likes this feeling. This unsure, flirtatious back and forth. The playfulness of it. The dangerousness of it.

Even if this is her mere attempt at flirting.

Her eyes flutter down to the words she has written on the screen. She breathes.

She presses send.

ASHLEY: _Are you coming by the library tomorrow?_

* * *

_Is_ he coming by the library today?

Chris has never thought about such a question so philosophically before.

"Hey," Josh nudges him as they squeeze through the school corridors. "Chris. Four eyes."

Chris' eyes stare aimlessly at his cellphone screen, ears drowning out Josh's incessant chattering, eyes dancing over his last texts with Ashley.

CHRIS: _wat is this library that u speak of? The only library I ever visit is that of my documents library on my PC_

It had been a lame joke to avoid a lame answer.

But what was he honestly _supposed_ to say? " _I can't come to the library anymore because I'm a coward and now my best friend knows I only go there to see you and therefore he will now make my life a living misery."_

Right. Nothing says _romance_ quite like that.

It's not hard for Chris to remember the day he'd heroically asked Ashley for her cellphone number. And, because it is his story to tell, he is at liberty to throw in as many fire breathing dragons and sword wielding heroes as he likes.

It definitely wasn't meagre. It definitely wasn't unimpressive.

It definitely didn't consist of Chris twitching at a library table, pretending to study while he tried to churn up the appropriate words.

Which had eventually ended up as; "Ashley, you have a phone, right?"

From where she had been stacking books on shelves, she'd glanced back at him suspiciously.

"Yes?" She'd dragged out the word and that had only made him even more nervous. He'd swallowed.

"Um," he'd fought within himself to throw out the words. To fire them out as quickly as possible. "Can I have it?"

She had immediately, violently snorted – which had shocked both her, Chris and the entire library – and then had decisively narrowed her eyes at him.

Which had resulted in Chris immediately recounting what he had just spat out his mouth, sworn at himself and then corrected; "I mean, can I have your number?"

And that's when she'd smiled. And lit up his whole world.

Or, you know, a part of it.

Much better than fire breathing dragons.

Chris' eyes glow as he glances at Ashley's last text.

ASHLEY: _Lies._

It had been a quiet, simple response to his joke but it had still made Chris smile. At that moment, he'd wanted to throw every fear out the window and move all of his belongings into the library. To hell with Josh and Sam and every other sensible human being.

He could be adventurous if he wanted.

Though, for him, adventurous is drinking milk a day over the expiry date.

Hardcore.

"Yo," Josh snaps in Chris' ear and Chris jerks his head up, yanking himself back to reality.

"What?" Chris cringes, blinking back at his best friend and swiftly shoving his cellphone into his jean pocket.

Josh snorts, following the movement suspiciously. Still, he says nothing – for all the time they'd known each other, at least Josh had learned something – and instead flexes his now bruised hand like its a battlefield wound. "Anyone would think you'd gone into anaphylactic shock."

Chris narrows his eyes behind his glasses; "Do you even know what that word means?"

With a mocking gasp, Josh traipses down the corridor, Chris following close behind. Because that's what being a friend of Josh means. You always orbit around him. Or he'll cling to you like fungus.

"Despite what my grades say, Christopher," Josh waves an aimless arm through the air like it's a cane. "I'm actually pretty smart. It's science."

"Right, Josh," Chris chortles, bobbing his head along with his best friend. Beth has constantly compared the two of them to a pair of ravens, perched on top of a telephone wire, watching the world go by. Josh had spat at her and Chris had cringed. Wildlife, ew. But maybe she's right. Despite how far apart Josh and he might be in personality, they are both watchers. They both sit on the sidelines and observe. And maybe that's why Chris cares so much about this lunatic of a character he calls a best friend.

He drawls, "That's _exactly_ what science is."

Josh grins one of his goofy, ridiculous grins that makes Chris wants to shove him against a wall. He does this; toying with the air, dragging out his reputation. Testing to see what kind of reaction he can get out of people. It's been a trait that Chris has admired and despised and seen develop inside his best friend from the day they'd first met. If Josh doesn't become the psychiatrist he wants to be, he could easily become a master manipulator.

Nobody could blame him for wanting to join the Mafia.

"You got it," Josh clicks his tongue, dragging his eyes from Chris to a group of passing girls who seem to be eyeing the pair up. No wait. They smile slowly, giggling. They're looking at Josh. _Definitely_ looking at Josh.

He winks.

Chris rolls his eyes.

He feels like Josh's entourage.

"That never gets old," he sighs at the world as if he's blissfully thanking it for his borderline, speckle of popularity.

"No," Chris shoves past him with a grin, barely grazing the doorway to the library. He catches a glimpse of the sign, daring himself to go him. To break tradition. To _be_ adventurous. And then, like the coward he is, he strolls past. "But _you_ do."


	5. Bonus: Josh and the Principle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started off writing the previous chapter like this and then I didn't feel comfortable suddenly adding a Josh POV. And so, because I didn't want to completely be rid of it, I've added it as a bonus. Hope you enjoy!

Josh grumbles, shuffling further down the squeaky, leather seat. His arms are tightly crossed over his chest, his bottom lip jutting out like the little kid he is.

He narrows his eyes at the principle, shifting as far away as he can from the guy sat next to him; "I didn't punch him." That's a blatant lie. Especially when Josh is not even attempting to hide the blistered knuckles rimming his tight fist. But it's not _his_ fault that this _punk_ decided it was a good idea to cheat on his sister.

"We weren't even _dating_ ," Beth had rolled her eyes at Josh, letting her breath come out in a scoff. Her eyes had looked loose in their sockets before she'd shifted uncomfortably like she wanted him to stop talking about it. "It was just this... casual thing."

That just made it worse.

This kid thought it was just _fine_ to sleep around with his sister, _tick her off the list_ and then waltz off to the next course. Like Beth was just another "Washington ticket." Asshole.

Josh had instantly eyed up the criminal across the school corridor.

"Josh," Beth had pleaded, gripping onto his bicep. She had looked at him then and he could see the exhaustion swimming in her tear rimmed eyes. Like she was just _tired_ of all this. Like she just wanted it all to just fly over her head. To blow over. To be forgotten.

He wasn't going to let it.

" _Please_?" It was on the borderline of begging. _Don't do it,_ it said. _Don't do it._ Her fingers tightened.

But Josh's mind was set.

He had a duty. And that was to be an older brother.

And so he'd shaken off his sister's hand, strode across the school corridor, and stormed straight up to the culprit.

The kid was basking in a crowd of jocks and pretty, blonde bimbos. He was laughing and chattering, wearing some hideous letterman jacket. Probably somebody on Matt's football team. Like that gave him any status in life.

His arm was hooked around the waist of some flirtatious Marilyn Monroe. Who, for all the times she flicked her blonde hair off her shoulder, had far too much ego for her size. Either that or she had some serious twitch that, you know, maybe a doctor should have a look at.

"Oi," Josh had pushed through the crowd, hooking his chin in the guy's direction. "Asshole."

The kid had cocked his head in Josh's direction, eyebrows slowly raising. He looked young enough to be a freshman. He was barely a toddler in an oversized jacket.

The crowd spilling around the kid stopped, their heads turning like cogs on sticks. Their eyes locked onto Josh with curiosity, humour and was that scorn? With that, Josh had gripped his fist. Preparing the weapon.

"If it isn't the Washington Prodigy," the toddler had smiled, slow and long, with ease. An ' _ooh_ ' had rippled through the crowd.

A stretched smile tugged up Josh's own face.

And then Josh had smacked him one in the face.

"I didn't punch him," Josh repeats, his tone even grittier.

"Joshua," the principle looks at him through narrowed eyes. "You might want to change your mind about that. There _was_ a crowd of witnesses-"

"I said," Josh grits through his teeth, "I didn't punch him." He huffs through his nose, tightening his crossed arms. He half snorts, a smile twitching at the edge of his lips. "And if I did, he deserved it."

The kid beside Josh flicks incredulous, angry eyes towards him, fingers nursing his burst lip. Aw, poor football star can't play anymore with a busted face. Boo hoo.

Well, two can play at that game.

"Joshua," the principle sighs, leaning back in his chair, the leather creaking. "I think I'm going to have to call your parents."

Josh clicks his tongue once, flicking the invisible 'Washington' card between his thumb and fingers. In a minute, he'd hold it up with one, fully displayed middle finger. "I don't think that's a good idea."

The principle's eyes cloud over with realisation. He lets out a resigned sigh. Well, that was easy. "And why's that?"

Josh lets out a relaxed breath, leaning back in his chair. "Last time I checked," Josh says with ease, despite his stinging knuckles. The nurse had checked up on both of them after the incident. Apparently neither of their injuries were worth much attention. Despite what the moping toddler might think. "My father is one of the main contributors towards this school."

"Josh-" The principle warns once, and Josh eyes him right back.

Then the very wise head of school purses his lips, inhaling through his nose, before clacking his teeth. "Fine," he sighs.

"Seriously?" The jock jumps forward in his chair, the piece of furniture reacting in protest with an ancient creak. "You're just going to let him get away with _this_?" He waves his hand in front of his face and Josh smirks.

"Why, what's the problem?" Josh teases, finally narrowing his eyes at the jerk. "Can't play football because your pretty face is all messed up?"

The kid growls at Josh.

And Josh just smiles smugly until the principle sighs languidly, waving his exhausted hand. "You can go now."

And Josh does.

He flexes his weapon hand victoriously, paying no more attention to the grunting, arms-crossed kid beside him, and strides out of the room.

Mmm, he could really do with a hamburger.


	6. The Day We Didn't Meet

It's not as if she's a damsel in distress, stuck in a tower, waving a white flag of surrender out of her window. Then why is she waiting on a prince charming?

Ashley huffs, hooking her chin into her upturned hand, eyes ticking along to the hands of the clock – the one hanging high, attached by a hinge to the wall. The library is disastrously, desolately empty. And Ashley has been stupidly hoping that, through the vacant open door, any minute now, Chris will stroll. Which, by all statistics, is a terrible, inaccurate assumption to make. And Ashley should be ashamed of herself.

Because he hadn't responded to her text last night. Even when she'd abandoned her cellphone on her desk chair to run down and clean up that night's dishes – giving him a full _twenty minutes –_ he still hadn't replied. When she'd returned, the screen of her phone had been vacant of any alerts. Black as death and grim as her disappointment.

He had seen her message. Seen but not heard.

She sighs, drooping her chin even further.

The conclusion, therefore, to make from such an incident is that Chris is infallibly, inflexibly uninterested in her. Which makes her next assertion all the more devastating. Because Ashley is infallibly, inflexibly, _infuriatingly_ interested in him.

She groans, rolling her eyes as she rocks her head against the table with a clonk.

"Oh Em _Gee_ ," a voice squeals through the library's halls. Ashley snaps her head back up, her eyes rocking in their sockets. She fights herself to plaster a 'I'm totally okay, how can I help you?' smile on her face. It's always good practice to look presentable. Currently, she is the only workable employee on the premises. The last time she saw the librarian, she had gone out to have a cigarette. That was two hours ago.

The voices whisper through the creaks and cracks of the library halls. They whistle like winds.

"Did you hear?"

Ashley catches a glimpse of two shadows ducking behind a pillar of books. A dusty sigh escapes her lips as the realisation sinks in like bending, creaking bones. Ah, here they go again. The Library. The place where gossip comes and hides in between cracks on the shelves.

Despite the complete resourcefulness of this wonderful creature the world calls a library, students still only wander in here for one of two things; gossip or make out sessions.

And Ashley has had the _pleasure_ of experiencing both of those things in the duration she's been volunteering here. Though not first hand. _Definitely_ not first hand.

Her cheeks ferociously flush at the thought.

"Hear what?" another voice drawls, lower and calmer and definitely not as hysterical. He sounds distracted, like he's pioneering between the shelves, and the other voice is just clinging onto him. Wait. Ashley recognises the voice. Her ear cocks to the side. She recognises them both.

Pit-pattering with her feet, Ashley creaks her way up from her chair in the midst of the library, creeping around the corners of the shelves, listening out for the voices.

"The Washington's are hosting a party," the female squeals. Ashley hisses, the voice rattling inside her ears, " _tonight_!"

There's a dusty pause and, for a breathy, relieved moment, Ashley is thankful to hear that her ears aren't ringing.

The male audibly shrugs; "So?" He sounds close, like he's just behind her. Her spine prickles, her breath hitching as she carefully paces down the carpeted floor. Fleetingly, she lets her eyes travel along the spines of the books – an ingenious cover if she does say so herself.

He huffs, his breath sounding puffy, close and distracted. Like he actually came inside the library for a purpose other than to make out. Or gossip.

Okay. Ashley smiles faintly, something flickering in her alight eyes. Her fingers travel along the spine of a particularly dusty book, feeling the ridges of the old cover. Her mind is fleetingly distracted. Maybe this guy isn't _so_ bad.

" _So_?" the female scoffs loudly, a sharp mocking sound. The sound of her voice pierces Ashley's ears. Ouch. She half expects to reach a hand up and feel blood trickling out of her ear. "Have you _seen_ their house?"

Her voice travels like an ancient, dusty monster devouring the air. It echoes and bounces. And it's a particularly nippy monster.

The male just hums, uninterested. Something scrapes against the shelf in front of Ashley and she realises he's pulled off a book, bouncing it in his hands. She ducks – just in case he manages to see through the cracks and spot her.

"Are you even listening?" the preppy girl coughs.

The male ignores her, his padding steps creaking.

Ashley's eyes widen. He's going to sign out the book.

He's heading for the front desk.

Instantly, she dives down the isle, skidding across the floor in a tumble and secures herself behind the desk.

Just as Matt – and his female companion – stride out of their own personal isle.

Her chest heaves from catching her breath. And Matt lifts his dark eyes, catching Ashley's. He looks at her curiously before smiling gently. She was right. She did recognise him.

He's in her year. One of the football players. Untouchable. Yet, in the mess of school corridors, she has caught him occasionally sending a friendly smile over to her. Which has, in turn, pushed her down the outcast spectrum – just slightly.

Ashley isn't lucky enough to get away with just recognising Matt too.

She knows the girl too.

Jessica. A cheerleader. Complete with bouncing, blonde curls and exaggerated, wide eyes.

Unlike Matt, Jessica barely even knows Ashley exists.

"Look, all I wanted to ask," Jess huffs, hand securely planted on her hip. She fleetingly passes Ashley an uninterested look before returning to Matt, "Is if you wanted to be my plus one."

Matt's eyebrows cross as he measly pushes past her, book in hand, striding towards Ashley's counter. It's just that action that pushes Ashley to stand up straighter and push her smile up further.

Then Jess tugs his attention away again, disastrously rambling; "Em's gonna be going with Mike and Sam will probably tag along with Josh." The last two names strike a familiar bell inside Ashley's ears. Wait. Isn't Sam the name of the girl who had taken Chris away? And hadn't she mentioned a Josh? Despite her training, Ashley's obvious Sherlock Holmes ancestry, she is curiously and vigorously listening. "And who as hell knows who Chris is going with."

_Not me._

It's a fleeting though but it still saddens her. She would have liked to have been his plus one.

Not that she _ever_ parties.

"The _point_ is," Jess finally concludes to a barely listening Matt who has been staring, bored, at his book cover all this time. Like he's waiting for this to be over, for Jess to start time again, so he can sign out the book already, "that I can't just go with _anyone_."

Matt heaves out a breath. "And I'm the easiest meat head you could get your hands on," he finishes off, musing as if he's not even offended by the statement. Jess visibly splutters in response, blonde plaits swaying, but Matt shrugs nonchalantly, "Sure. Whatever, Jess."

Her eyes widen. " _Really?_ " She practically jumps up and down on her tiptoes. "You better not be late!"

A sigh weaves from his lips and Ashley catches him rolling his eyes. She chuckles under her breath. "I'll pick you up at seven with a limousine and a bunch of flowers," he drawls, eyes still caught on the dusty book cover he's holding.

With beaming cheeks, Jess silently squeals, flicking hair over her shoulder, and bounds out of the library.

"She _does_ realise you're being sarcastic, right?" the question pops out of Ashley's lips. She blinks, surprised at the sound herself. Her cheeks flair. She wants to recoil.

Matt's head bobs up, dark eyes connecting with hers. He lifts a single eyebrow, face dead-pan. "Am I?"

She smiles despite herself.

"Because if you're not, I'm going to be seriously worried about her expectations of men later on in life." The sentence rolls out of her mouth and she's suddenly wondering where she got these confidence super powers from. Had she been bitten by a cheerleader? When did she ever talk to jocks like Matt?

Instead of recoiling, Matt just simply grins, eyes glowing. He looks curiously at her. And oddly, despite the label of popularity clinging to his clothes, she doesn't feel so out of place with him. He feels almost like a piece of the furniture here. Comfortable. Reliable.

Like someone who would always text back.

"Ashley, right?" he finally asks, knitting his eyebrows slightly. He cocks his head, like his thoughts are too heavy for him to hold. "You're in my Physics class."

Ashley's cheeks burn and she curses herself for smiling so much. "Yeah," her voice petters out of her mouth. Then she adds; "And History. And English."

He lets out a short laugh. "Right," he ponders with a smile, flipping the book aimlessly in his hands. He watches her like he's trying to figure her out and, for once, Ashley is glad for the security of the library's desk.

By now, he's closed the distance between them and has placed the book on the desk.

"Oh, right," Ashley fumbles, remembering that she has actually has a job to do. With a cringe, she picks up the book, scanning it and stamping the library card, before sliding the book over to him.

He smiles in response. But instead of saying thanks, he looks at her questioningly. Then; "Hey, are you coming tonight?" he finally asks like something has sparked inside of him.

A loud snort escapes Ashley's nose. She instantly grimaces. "No," she inhales, face reddening in embarrassment. Which makes Matt smile wider.

"You should," he nods, casually picking the book up and flipping it from hand to hand. Ashley almost laughs when she finally sees the title of the book. If she had been remotely romanticising this man, she definitely isn't now. Not when he's just signed out a book called the beginner's guide to sheep herding.

"Don't you have to be," she starts, feeling the confidence rise in her and tasting the unusual words in her mouth, "invited to these things?"

Matt just grins. " _I'm_ inviting you," he shrugs simply.

Which only makes Ashley let out a chortle. "But you're _already_ a plus one."

"Well, " he starts to argue, seriousness crossing his brow. The fact he's taking such an argument seriously makes Ashley laugh. "You can be a plus one of a plus one," he finally states, evidently proud of his opening statement.

"That makes no logical sense," she retorts, raising her eyebrows pointedly. "If every plus one could have a plus one, when would it stop? And wouldn't a plus one of a plus one be a plus two? And-"

"I'll pick you up at seven," Matt says, cutting her off with an easy smile and strolling his way towards the door, book tucked in his hand.

And before she can even think about her, a smile rises on her lips and her voice finishes off the line; "With a limousine and a bunch of flowers."

* * *

"Since when are you holding a party?" Chris rolls his eyes at his pleased best friend. Josh just looks smug as he leans against the corridor wall, knocking his head against the plaster.

The Washington had been easily strolling down the hallway, Chris at his side, and had been, as usually, ogling all the passing girls. Then, as Chris had tugged up his backpack strap, eyes distracted by poster events, Josh had yelled out a name; "Hey! Jess!"

Chris had snapped his eyes forward only to see a cheerleader-clad Jessica pattering along the corridor towards them.

Her head had rotated like it was on a mechanical wheel.

"Party at my house tonight!" Josh grins. Multiple heads had turned at that. "You coming?"

Just like that, a switch had been turned in her head and her eyes were suddenly huge and alight. Then her wide, huge eyes had sparked with light and she smiled wildly.

"You bet!" She squeaked out between giggles. And, without even checking times or confirming the location – something Chris _definitely_ would have done. Maybe – had immediately scurried off, her new plans reeling over and over in her head.

Josh chews on some gum that he has magicked up from somewhere. "Since now," he grins, flipping a foil covered strip of gum in his fingers, offering it to Chris. Chris shakes his head.

"Something you need to learn, my dear friend," he slaps Chris on the shoulder, "is if you want news to spread, tell a cheerleader." He grins lazily. Chris sighs, knocking the back of his head against the wall. Typical Josh. "Now," he pops his gum with a clack, shrugging lazily, "I don't have to bother with invitations. Jess will do the work for me."

"Hah," is Chris' response. He grins. Then wonders if, maybe, Ashley will hear about it too.

He hopes so.

Then again, she seems like the girl who'd rather hide herself away in a book than in the corners of a party.

Wait.

"I take it I'm invited?" he lets the question fall from his lips, his eyebrows raising cheekily as he glances at his best friend.

Josh smiles slowly, something sneaky hiding in his eyes. Which makes Chris rather uncomfortable. And nervous.

What _now_?

Josh smirks; "You're welcome to take someone _with_ you."


	7. The Day We Partied (Not Like Porn Stars)

**The Library**

_**The Day We Partied (Not Like Porn Stars)** _

Matt didn't, despite what he'd promised, pick her up at seven in a limo with a bunch of flowers. In fact, he hadn't picked her up at all - which was a fact completely orchestrated by Ashley herself. Who on this planet (with any kind of common sense) freely gives out their address to some guy just because he invited them to a party?

Unless, of course, they are infallibly, infuriatingly interested in said guy. That, therefore, would completely reverse the situation. And, evidently, that's not the case.

Not with him anyway.

Instead, Matt had simply messaged Ashley – via Facebook _obviously_. Because, as referenced above, who freely gives out their personal details?

His message was a simple "See you there", complete with directions to the Washington house and void of emojis. It felt vaguely sparse.

Now Ashley peers down at her cellphone screen, checking the address, tugging down the uncomfortable length of her dress. It was a struggle to find this thing. She had to dig deep into the Mesolithic period of her closet to find it. She's not exactly one of those girls who goes around wearing dresses all the time. She'd rather have jeans, shirts and shorts any day – practical, comfortable and easier to run away from man eating dinosaurs in. Or, you know, whatever happens in the apocalypse.

She'd picked out a vaguely mustard coloured cocktail dress that had lost all it's volume after being crammed into a corner about 100 years ago. When she'd put it on, feeling uncomfortable tying her hair up, her mom had caught a glance of her from down the hall. Instantly, her face had lit up with pride as she'd gazed at Ashley. And she'd bit her lip like a giddy teenager, wiggling her eyebrows; "Who's the boy?"

Ashley had almost puked.

Now Ashley feels like she's going to puke for an entirely different reason. Because, when Matt had said 'house', she had expected a quaint, semi-detached council house. Maybe with a little garden running around the front, a swing set and a tiny attempt at a tree house in the back.

Not this. This is more like a mansion.

Like some metal creature has crashed through the roof of said semi-detached council house. About five times the size of Ashley's house, the structure in front of her is all metal and glass, plonked on the back of a smaller, brick, ivy covered building. It's like like they stepped back and took a good look at the house and decided it needed a gigantic conservatory on the back.

And, in front of the building, an achingly large stretch of lawn sprawls out in front of the mansion like a rug. Like a huge welcome mat.

Ashley swallows, feeling her nervous crawl up her throat like bile.

_Surely. Surely, this can't be the right place._

Her eyes flicker back to her bright phone screen in panic, the wind tangling with her hair and batting it in front of her face. She fights with it to pull it around her ears just so she can read the screen. To read it over and over again.

But her eyes aren't deceiving her. Unless Matt sent her the wrong address – she wouldn't put it past him – or Ashley has completely awful directional skills, this is definitely the right place.

_Great._

Now she feels _under-_ dressed.

Maybe she should have scrambled through her closet further. Maybe she needed to go back to the beginning of time. And stay there.

* * *

"I thought you were supposed to be partying," Chris puffs the words from the side of his mouth as he scrambles with the buttons of the PS4 controller, the sounds of gurgling and dying zombies smothering the vibrating booming of the music from downstairs.

"I would be," Beth blows strands of her hair away from her face as she drags herself into the room and drops herself down on the sofa next to Chris. Chris has known Beth and her sister for practically as long as Josh himself. He's easily comfortable with them that they might as well be his sisters too.

"If Travis hadn't turned up," she groans, rolling her head back and smothering her face with her hands. She muffles a scream against her palms.

"What? Your boyfriend?" Chris slams another hit into a zombie's head, _'critical hit'_ flashing across the screen. He grins, fist pumping the air. "Boo-yah!"

He can almost feel Beth cringe beside him. He grins wider.

" _Ex-_ boyfriend," she clarifies with a ridiculously dragged out sigh. Chris' ears twitch at the sound of her voice, though his eyes are still entirely distracted by the screen, his thumbs going mad on the controller. "Or whatever the hell we were. He's practically on a different planet now since Josh punched him into the moon."

Chris' thumb reacts on instinct. The game automatically flashes into pause.

"Wait," he leans back, finally staring back at Beth. Who looks like she wants to curl up into herself and equally wants to climb up to the roof and scream to the world. "Josh _punched_ him?"

A switch clicks in Chris' brain. Of course. That's why Josh had been held up at the principle's. He almost snorts. He's not surprised.

"I hope he deserved it," Chris sniggers through a concealed smile.

Amusement tugs Beth's smile up. Just the flicker in Beth's eyes is enough to tell Chris that he definitely _did_ deserve it.

"Does Josh know he's here?" Chris asks as he turns back to the huge, plasma screen, pressing play again.

She scoffs. "Hell no," she raises her voice, half laughing. "And I was _not_ going to stay around to see how he reacts."

Grinning, Chris thumbs his X button repeatedly.

"Where's Hannah?" he asks into the air fleetingly, smashing a refrigerator round a zombie's head. Inside the cogs of his mind, he processes that Hannah could do a hell of a better job of consoling Beth than he is. Isn't that basic evolutionary fact?

All Chris hears is Beth's huff. "Trying to get Mike's attention – again," she rolls her eyes, but her smile is sweet. Caring. And Chris can tell how much she loves her sister. "What about you? Aren't you supposed to be getting drunk and boozy with your 'bro'?"

Chris cringed, hearing the word ' _bro'_ coming from Beth's mouth.

Honestly, yes, probably. Chris had been one of the first to arrive, just behind Sam. He'd lugged an eight pack of beer with him – in reaction to a _subtle_ hint from Josh to, quote, "bring alcohol."

And then, after many swigs of beer as people started to trickle in, Josh had been caught in two versions of himself; host Josh and automatically-flirting-with-Sam Josh. Which Chris had responded to with a chuckle, raised his almost empty can of beer and called, "I'm gonna head upstairs!"

To which Josh had responded, "Sure, bro!"

And as Chris had turned, squeezing his way through the growing crowd towards the stairs, he'd heard Josh mutter to Sam, "I thought he was gonna bring Library Girl."

"I'll check on him later," is Chris' simple reply, followed by a smirk. He hears Beth chuckle beside him and it feels like an agreement.

Then there's a flicker of a silence – a period where Chris instantly knows that Beth is thinking – before she confidently leans forward.

"Can I give it a shot?" Beth asks, holding out her hand for the controller. "I could do with bashing out some of this rage." She stretches, cracking out her knuckles.

He laughs heartily and instantly pauses the game, narrowing his eyes challengingly towards her. His hand hovers the controller in her direction like it's a gauntlet.

"Sure you can handle it?" he asks with a cocked brow. Which a ridiculous question. Because she has beaten him at everything she has ever tried.

She just grins and grabs the controller and, with a determined look, presses play.

* * *

"Can someone get that?!" is the aimless, distant shout across bobbing heads and pounding music as Ashley squeezes herself through the doorway of the Washington residence. Okay, so maybe she hadn't been expecting a grand, fancy ball with glittering lights – but something a little less crowded, a little more subtle would have been appreciated.

Instead, all that surrounds Ashley is laughing, drunken teenagers, mind vibrating music and sloshing alcohol in red cups. She grimaces, pushing herself past some guy that looks like he's about to puke up on the cold, wooden flooring. In fact, as she manages to get past him, moving towards the open plan living room, he wretches, a sound of splatting hits the floor and a chorus of cringing, " _Duuuuuude._ "'s shudders around him. Gagging, she cups a hand over her mouth and nose to block out the smell.

"Ew," a nearby girl looks pained as she casts a withering look at the mess on the floor. Her face, framed by straight, dark hair, makes it look as if she's making a regretful, mental note of it for later. With a sarcastic grimace, she sing songs, "One more thing to clean up."

The room shudders with an uninterested grumble. The girl, sporting a pair of black rimmed glasses, rolls her dark eyes and shivers her shoulders in disgust as she turns, and-

"Don't worry about," Ashley spurts out of her mouth in passing, the words even shocking her. "He'll be bending down and eating it up in no time."

Instantly, the girl flickers her gaze towards Ashley, blinking the surprise out of her eyes. Then, with a brief curious look, she chuckles and nods. "Oh, I get it," she grins brightly and, as smiles are always contagious, fact, Ashley can't help but grin back. "Because he's a _dawg_."

"Yeah, something like that," Ashley mumbles behind her smile, shrugging in her uncomfortable dress.

"You must be, uh," the girl continues, glancing at Ashley as if she's studying her. Ashley won't be surprised if this ends up being a thesis on the social awkwardness of the subject of Ashley Brown. "One of Josh's friends?"

Ashley squints.

_Isn't everyone hear one of Josh's friends?_

"Something like that," she shrugs, her smile twitching. And her cheeks are definitely not flushing. Even as her mind flickers to Chris. To his crooked smile and glowing eyes. And his complete ineptity with books. She chuckles. It's mixed. "I'm sort of a friend of a friend."

"Right," the dark haired girl smiles, her eyes flashing like she understands – which makes Ashley glow just a little bit more.

Then a voice breaks through the air.

"Han!" a girl shouts across the crowd and, almost like it's made of cogs, Ashley's companion's head swivels to the sound. "Hannah!"

Soon, the girl is squeezing her way through the crowd, holding two full red cups above her head – as if that spacial area can protect them from being bumped and sloshed about.

"Please," the blonde girl droops, lilting as she finally reaches where Ashley and – she now assumes – Hannah is standing, pulling down the cups and offering one to Hannah. Hannah glances at the contents dubiously before taking a sip.

"Save me from your brother," the blonde grimaces.

And Ashley recognises her. Instantly. Like something has just been aligned inside her brain.

She's convinced the shock is written on her face.

This is the girl from the library – the one who had called Chris away the last time Ashley had seen him. What was her name? Sam?

"I think my brother needs saving from _himself_ ," Hannah rolls her eyes, Sam awarding her with a laugh and a nudge on the shoulder.

"You can say that again," Sam snorts, shaking her head and taking a sip of her drink – which Ashley can now see is just water. Or maybe vodka. Or both.

Then Sam callously throws her eyes into the air – and they land straight onto Ashley.

"Oh. Hey," she stops, passing Ashley an inquisitive, curious look. Ashley feels like stumbling back – but if she did, she'd end up falling into the back of someone else. Or, you know, being swallowed up into a ferocious crowd of strangers. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"Well, I mean," Ashley starts to ramble, scratching her arm subconsciously, "We're all at the same high school, we've all probably bumped into each other at some time or another-"

Then, as if anything that Ashley just said makes no different, Sam's eyes suddenly light up and she grins like a Cheshire. "Yeah. Right. The library," she proudly points at Ashley with a confident, index finger. "You were with Chris."

"Uh," Ashley starts, feeling rather uncomfortable. "Sure," she shrugs with a half smile, remembering the moment Sam had walked in on them. And how embarrassed Ashley had felt. And how excited she had been so see Chris again.

Ashley catches a look pass across Hannah's face – one that says, 'ah, _that_ friend of a friend', and then she's smiling just as mischievously as Sam. Which makes Ashley feel even _more_ uncomfortable. Like they're plotting something. Like this whole thing was an elaborate plan to hitch her and Chris up together, send them off to Vegas and elope into the sunset.

Which is, by all means, completely impractical. Though not entirely unwelcome.

"Did Chris invite you?" Sam asks coyly as if she already knows all of Ashley secrets.

Which is completely impossible. There's no room inside _anyone's_ head to store all of Ashley's secrets. She has to write them all down in her journal every night.

"No," Ashley replies slowly, aware that any slip up of her tongue might make her tumble into one of Sam and Hannah's traps.

They pass a look between the two of them.

Then Hannah takes a step forward, smiling too brightly and too friendly, and says, "Let's go find him anyway." She giggles giddily.

Sam's eyes flash. She drapes a motherly arm around Ashley's shoulders, steering her through the crowd. Then she says, so simply, like it's an easy fact; "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

"No!" Ashley snaps, yanking herself out of Sam's arms. Sam and Hannah both glance back at her, shocked. Ashley bites her lip but isn't apologetic.

Because what is the point of a dramatic entrance if the perpetrator just goes searching for the subject and ruins the surprise? Chris has to be the one to notice her first. That's what happens in all the romantic movies.

If the girl goes storming up to the guy – well, that's when they usually break up.

Not that Ashley and Chris were ever dating, but-

"Uhm. I mean," Ashley stutters, pulling her shoulders up just slightly, wishing she'd actually worn heels. "I'm actually looking for Matt."

* * *

"You called?" Chris cocks an eyebrow as he reaches the doorway to the games room. He'd been dragged away from Beth completely _thrashing_ his high score when he'd heard Josh holler up the stairs; "Pizza!"

Which, by all means, had been a complete and utter lie. Because, by the time Chris had pushed his way eagerly down the stairs to grab a slice – or five – all of it had already been gobbled up. By some evil, malicious creatures. In legend, they call them... _drunk teens._

But before Chris could mope about the shockingly void, empty pizza boxes lying on the kitchen counter, he'd heard Mike yell from the games room that Chris' presence was indefinitely needed. When is it _not_?

"Right!" Matt snaps up next to the pool table, cue in hands, a fierce, competitive look his eyes. "You need to sort this out."

Mike groans, rolling his eyes witheringly. "Get over it already. You scuffed."

There's a nattering sound in the background and it doesn't take long for Chris to realise that it's Jess and Emily, huddled up in the back corner, obviously so tired of their two dates bickering that they've resorted to gossip and selfies instead.

" _This_ guy," Matt throws his hand up at Mike in a huff, "thinks I made a foul move."

"In that shirt?" Chris passes with a cheeky smirk, eyeing the two guys confidently. "Yeah, you did."

Mike whistles, which is followed by a conclusive high five shared by the two girls in the corner – who are maybe _not_ so engrossed in their phones. And, uhm, shouldn't _Chris_ be the one getting the high fives here?

"Ha ha, funny," Matt sighs sarcastically before Chris grins cockily.

"As the pool champion here," he cracks his knuckles and hears a consensus groan ripple around the room, "It's clear who needs to show you how it's done."

And as Chris strides across the room, ready to grab hold of Matt's pool cue, a voice calls out behind him.

"Hey, Matt!" Sam shouts across the room. Everyone swivels – except Emily and Jess who have been wrapped in by their phones again – to see Sam standing in the doorway, a Mike engrossed Hannah beside her and a very familiar red head; who's looking straight at Chris.

He swallows.

"There's someone here to see you."


	8. The Day We Actually Studied

 

"You're jealous," Josh chews on his words aimlessly as he stuffs another handful of popcorn in his mouth. Stray pieces escape from his mouth as he crunches and they kamikaze onto the sofa between him and Chris with a bounce.

"Hold on," Chris' voice sways casually from where he's sprawled against the back of the sofa, eyes trained on Terminator 3 - the film showing on the huge, plasma TV screen. Still, the words feel sharp on his tongue. "Can you just rephrase that to ' _not jealous_ '?"

Josh rolls his eyes in a heap, lazily and wordlessly smirking at Chris.

Chris is very tempted to shove the whole bowl of popcorn over his head.

Last night had been a reluctant foggy cloud - one of blurry figures and voices and alcohol. Chris had dragged himself around in a daze, passing grins and cans of beer. And then Ashley had turned up. Library girl Ashley. Period at the end of every text Ashley In her loose curls, and short dress, all accessorized by her flushing cheeks. He'd almost sworn.

And then he'd suddenly become acutely aware of everything.

Like the way she had looked at him - as if they'd known each other forever. Then how she'd instantly turned to Matt when he'd called her over with a smile. A move that almost said he was already used to her beauty.

And then the coldness of the kitchen table where Chris had slumped himself, icy beer bottle in his hand. Then the hotness of alcohol slithering down his throat as he'd watched the two of them interact. The way her shoulders had relaxed around Matt. The way he had lightened – insisting the two of them play a game of pool together.

The way she had laughed. The way she had fit in.

And the pounding migraine stabbing into Chris' skull.

The alcohol had helped with that one.

"I gotta hand it to you," Josh smirks from the side of his lips - just as Arnold strides onto the screen - before flinging a piece of popcorn into the air to try and catch it with his mouth. Which he fails miserably at. The popcorn victoriously cheers as it sails past Josh's mouth and onto the floor. "She's cute. Shame Matt got to her first."

Chris sighs, rubbing his hungover forehead, "Again. Not jealous."

Definitely not jealous.

Chris sighs. Like always, he'd been the last remaining corpse in the house as every other party-goer had trickled away. Leaving empty crunched up cans of beer strewn across the carpet. And the odd patches of liquid that could either be alcohol, spew or urine. Even Sam had disappeared early - though she had helped a frustrated Hannah and reluctant Beth clean the place, all the while swearing at Josh and Chris to get up their asses.

A sly grin slides up Josh's already full face. He chews slowly. Josh isn't listening to Chris. Again. Though if Chris wasn't Chris, he wouldn't listen to himself either.

"It's alright, bro," Josh patronisingly leans forward and pats Chris on the shoulder. He slurs out a whisper, as if it's a huge, big disastrous secret that could ruin the universe. "As the _clear_ dating master between the two of us," he shrugs proudly and Chris groans. Before he smugly quirks an eyebrow. "I have a plan."

Well, this can't go wrong. At all.

Chris snorts. "As long as it's a better than your plan to watch _this_ crap."

Then he grabs a handful of popcorn and lugs it at the TV.

* * *

"Aaarrggg," Ashley smothers a groan into her pillow, wanting to be sucked into it and hibernate there forever.

For a brief moment, after the fringes of her dreams had slipped away, she had forgotten all about her hideously embarrassing night last night.

And then, in a split second, it had tumbled towards her and hit her smack in the face.

It had hurt.

"So, how's that essay going?" She'd said when she'd finally had the courage to saunter up to Chris who, by that point, was slung across the kitchen counter alone, cradling a beer bottle in his hand.

How sad is it when an essay becomes a pick up line?

She had unhooked herself from Matt when he was progressively being tugged away by other girls. He'd sent her apologetic eyes but she had just laughed. "That's what you get for being a jock," she had narrowed her eyes playfully at him.

"The struggle," he had grinned back like it was an actual burden. But, honestly, he looked like he was rather enjoying it - even as he was being pulled away and smothered into a crowd of girls.

Ashley had just shaken her head, a laugh on her lips.

And then she was alone. Her arms her only comfort.

Because Hannah had dragged Sam onto the dance floor – evidently trying to catch some other person's attention. And Jess' company was not something Ashley had craved.

And so, instinctively, as if he was a magnet, she had turned to Chris. Which wasn't a hard decision to make since she'd come here for him in the first place. And, for every time she had been in a room with him, it had always been him she'd wanted to be near.

Granted, whenever he had been in a room with her, they were alone.

But that's besides the point.

"It'sss going great," Chris had squinted his bloodshot eyes to her, knocking his askew glasses against the kitchen counter. He raised his empty, clinking beer glass to her.

She had laughed but it had been stifled. Stifled by the crowds and the music and close bodies. She'd hopped onto the kitchen stool beside Chris to escape it.

"How's _Matt_?" he'd added and it would have almost sounded sharp if the alcohol hadn't sanded down the point. But the bitterness was still there.

Ashley had startled, furrowing her eyebrows at him. What did Matt have to do with any of this?

With a quiet shrug, she'd hummed. "Matt's, um, great, fine," her voice had flitted, distracted by the disgusting couple who had just started making out in front of them. Couldn't they do this more privately? More _romantically_? She had cringed.

Chris had let out a single laugh. It had been slow and drunk and lazy. And suddenly not bitter at all.

"You look like a pig," he blatantly stated, amid a chuckle.

"What?" she'd slapped her eyes to him, shocked. Hurt.

Was that supposed to be an insult?

He'd smiled clunkily. "When your nose wrinkles like that," his eyes had narrowed kindly as he'd looked to her. Curiously. Even if they were bloodshot. Even if they were behind foggy glasses.

Wait. Her nose wrinkled? In a flit of panic her hand had instantly flown to cover her nose, cheeks reddening and lips pursing.

And then Chris' sloppy, drunk hand had reached out and scrambled for her wrist, pulling her hand down. "No, don't," his words had been slippery and drunk. But real. "It's cute."

"Aaaarrggg," another scream gets shoved into her pillow.

Because it had been at that exact moment when Ashley had flooded with embarrassment, unhooked her hand from Chris' and, with a quick and fleeting apology, run away.

Right out of the party and, in a stumble, had fallen onto the street.

It turns out that, as soon as Ashley dares to step into a party, her common sense gets swallowed up with her.

With a reluctant moan, Ashley finally pulls herself from the peeling covers of her bed, rolling over to glance at the flashing time on her alarm clock. 12:36pm.

Gah. She'd slept in passed midday. How late had she stayed up to last night?

With a frustrated and sleepy sigh, she pulls herself up the bed and rubs her eyes, adjusting to the daylight seeping through her blinds.

Then her cellphone buzzes on her night stand.

Lazy and groggy, Ashley flops over and scrambles for it, pulling it close enough to her face so she can see it through her barely pried open eyes.

A text flashes across the screen.

CHRIS: remember when u said u'd help me out with my essay?

Immediately, Ashley's cheeks heat up. Can people hear thoughts through cellphones? Was Chris telepathically able to witness her recalling hideously embarrassing night last night? She would rather die!

With fumbling, desperate fingers, she types out a quick, typo filled reply;

ASHLEY: Yes?

It's cautious and unsure and- didn't he say his essay was going great?

Another text pings through.

She glances at it. And all her embarrassment washes away.

She laughs.

CHRIS: Help

* * *

"Is there anything I need, you know," Chris casually says, cell phone pressed against his ear, other hand stuffing his shirt and a notebook into a bag he'd grabbed from Josh. Josh had also let him steal a shirt because, who wants to go on a library study date with someone who stinks of alcohol? Not that this is a date... "To survive the horrors of the city library?"

Ashley chuckles on the other side of the phone line. "Maybe your brain," she sniggers and Chris sneers playfully at her. Some time, along the lines of their conversation, they had evolved from text messaging to an actual phone call. It feels odd to hear Ashley's voice over the phone. Like a little piece of her is trapped inside his iPhone.

Chris is _not_ a phone call kind of guy.

Well, not usually.

"Hang on," Chris clucks his tongue, pretending to search for something. "Yep, my brain is still inside my skull. I think we're gonna be okay."

Just as Ashley laughs, Chris catches a glimpse of Josh across the large room giving Chris a patronising thumbs up and wink. Chris rolls his eyes.

"So, I'll, uh, see you in ten?" He asks, slinging his new acquired bag over his shoulder, aimlessly heading towards the Washington's front door.

"Make it twenty," Ashley coos on the other end, just as Chris passes a Beth slobbering cereal for lunch in the kitchen. When she gives him a weird look, he tries to hide his glowing smile with a cheesy, fake grin. "In case you get lost on your way."

Chris snorts, reaching the front door and clicking down the handle. "Ha ha," he droans, just as he hears Beth call to Josh; "Where's _he_ going?"

And Chris pulls the door open just as Josh smugly replies; "Getting some ass."

oOo

The city library is a whole lot bigger than the school one. And a heck of a lot busier too.

"Let's find a quiet place," Ashley mutters beside him as they stare at the sea of giggling, messy kids.

"Why didn't you mention ear plugs as a thing I needed to take?" Chris asks, his face crumbling in slight panic. This is apparently what you get if you come to a library on a Saturday.

Ashley glances up at him, her shoulders doing a little, gentle shrug. She smiles playfully; "Then you wouldn't be able to hear me."

Chris narrows his eyes back at her, a grin creeping up; "And that's a good thing?"

"Hey!" Ashley snaps, slapping him across his arm with her notebook. He laughs sheepishly, batting her away. Okay, yeah, that was supposed to be a joke. But man does she hit hard. Cringing, Chris rubs his stinging arm with his hand.

To no one's surprise, Ashley is as adept with this library as she is with the school one – and probably any library in existence. She manages to find – or is already aware of – a small crook in a corner of the library where a low table is surrounded by sofa chairs. And it's, relievingly, far far away from the children's section.

"Okay," Ashley slaps her notebook on the table before falling back into one of the chairs. Chris casually follows suit, slinging his bag off his shoulder and onto the floor. "Let's do this!"

* * *

"Do you think it's time for a break?" Chris glances down at his wrist, which Ashley can blatantly see is with _out_ a watch.

She rolls her eyes, tapping her pen on his pad of notepaper.

"You literally had a break ten minutes ago," Ashley says dryly, raising both her eyebrows knowingly. He just glances at her and sheepishly grins.

Her lips can't help but react by twitching upwards.

To be fair on him, Chris had written a lot. After about fifteen minutes, his eyes had actually switched into concentration mode and he'd started to scribble some paragraphs in his notebook. It also helped when she reminded him that his essay was due on Monday.

He'd just flicked his eyes up to her – a brief moment when they'd just looked at each other – and he'd smiled with a shrug; "You've got a point, Sherlock."

Ashley had just pursed her lips playfully; "That's not a quote, Jackass."

Which didn't matter. Not when he smiled at her like that.

Which totally did not make her stomach do a highly embarrassing flip.

"In conclusion," Chris finally drones as he stares blankly at his notepad, repeating the words over and over again as if it will inspire some incredible response.

Ashley glances up from where she's been writing her own essay – this one a history of the crusades. It's relatively interesting – to catch Chris biting his bottom lip in concentration and she lets a tiny smile slip through her lips.

And then he's jerking his head up to look and her and she drops it.

"How's Matt?" He finally throws out the words. And they are choppy, as if he's been chewing on them for a while, not knowing what to do with them.

Ashley blinks back at him, feeling her cheeks heat. Because it's not the mention of Matt that is bringing up this embarrassment. It's what he's associated to. The party last night. The drink. The exact same question Chris had asked then.

He's not going to ask her why she bolted last night, is he? She could do without that.

Especially when she doesn't really know the answer herself.

"I mean," Chris rearranges his words when he evidently realises that Ashley has frozen in place. Not a good look, "How do you know him?"

"Oh," Ashley's lips curve and hover into an 'o' shape, blinking back at him. "Uh, he's in my year." She tries to shrug, glancing back down at her notebook because Chris' gaze is too heavy. Maybe his glasses are like magnifying glasses. Maybe his eyes are suns and his glasses – like magnifiers – are burning her. "I didn't really- don't really know him that well. He's fine."

Because he is. He's fine. He's fine, and she's been using that phrase to describe Matt for a while now.

She's hasn't really had the need to change it. She likes him enough.

"Ah," Chris swallows. And is that relief? She hears him smile. "Glad to hear he's fine."

Ashley nods, glancing back at him and smiling. Even if her cheeks are fierce fires.

"Fine. Good," Chris eyes lighten as his cheeks beam in a gentle smile. Ashley bites her lip happily, watching him as he glances back down to his notebook, reaching out for a pen.

And if she had enough courage to brush her hand against his, she would have handed him one.

END OF ACT ONE


	9. The Day He Graduated

ACT TWO

The sun, in all its outrageous glory, glints in the curls of Ashley's hair as she mischievously sidles up to a silk robed Chris. "So," she drags out the word, playfully toying with a lock of her hair as she bites her lip. The sun hasn't forgotten to glint in her eyes either. "How does it feel, now that you're an _official_ adult?"

It takes Chris a second to adjust from straightening his graduation cap – how do these things stay on anyway? - to glance at Ashley who, although she's a head shorter than him, manages to fill up the space beside him much more efficiently than anyone else.

For a brief second, he thinks about Josh. Josh who, only a year ago, had been the one graduating. Who had been the one grinning lazily in his oversized graduation gown, the cap slipping off his head. And it had been odd. Still odd. Because Chris hadn't known a day of school in his life that didn't have Josh in it. Well, since he was eight but he'd practically just been born then, he was so young.

Then that brief second is over and Chris' face crumbles into over-exaggerated panic, eyebrows and all. "Oh no!" he exclaims to the world, tumbling his gaze over to Ashley in horror. He's about to start clawing at his face for full dramatic effect but opts against it because people are watching and, more importantly, _Ashley_ 's watching. "Was that today? I thought I had more time!" Instantly, he tips his head back, throws his fists into the air and yells, "Nooooooo!"

The sound that shoots out of Ashley's mouth is a hybrid between a snort and a chortle. Chris laughs at the way she instantly regrets it, smothering her hand over her mouth and batting Chris' bicep with the other. "You're ridiculous," she shakes her head between giggles.

He smirks. "Yeah," he wiggles an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes mischievously at her. "Ridiculously _handsome_."

That earns him a drawn out groan from Ashley. Which he deserves.

Then he's laughing and she's smiling and-

"You two!" Sam's voice snaps across the high school campus. Both Chris and Ashley turn their heads simultaneously, only to be met with Sam, equally clad in her own graduation gown and cap, victoriously waving a digital camera in the air. "Can you stop flirting for _one minute_? I'm trying to get _pictures_!"

Another groan seeps out of Ashley's mouth and she covers her face with her hands, rocking her forehead against Chris' shoulder. He chuckles, sliding his arm around her shoulder and giving her a little shake.

"Everyone! Mike, Em!" Sam yells over the bustle of the surrounding students and parents. Multiple heads turn like seagulls and Chris cringes. His family are amongst them somewhere. "Group photo!"

Mike and Emily push in first, arms looped around each other, both looking far too popular in their own graduation gowns, followed by Jessica dragging Matt along. Apparently they bonded over the jock-slash-cheerleader stereotype. Even Sam manages to push a reluctant Hannah in the picture who tumbles into frame, bringing her sister with her.

And Chris is sure Josh was here a moment ago.

"Smile," Sam sing-songs from behind the camera, squinting her eyes in the bright sunlight.

The group crowd around each other, squeezing into frame. Matt takes his usual space beside Ashley, Jess crowding in between them. Mike and Emily are currently one person at the moment so they take up twice the amount of space, meaning they are vacated to the back, much to Em's disgust. Though the twins were literally one person since birth so they get special treatment and squeeze in to Chris' empty side.

Sam calls out, holding the camera with one hand while she adjusts her cap with the other. "Everybody say, 'Happy Graduation Day!"

_Chris. You got this. You were born for this. You are America's Next Top Model. You are a supermodel for Victoria's Secret. You are-_ Okay, nope. Uh uh. Chris never wants to imagine what he just saw in his head ever again.

"Happy Graduation Day!" Chris chimes in cheesily with the others, his arm still wrapped around Ashley's shoulder. She leans into him, though whether to get closer or just to hide her face, he doesn't know. He tries not to think about it. Instead, he grins wildly, knowing how much Ashley hates being photographed and how, finally, she has no excuse to get out of it, and now she'll actually have to stand there and smile and-

"Wait!" Ashley unhooks herself from Chris' arm, flinging herself forward and holding her hand out in protest. Chris startles, his arm suddenly cold, watching her tumble and then stride over to Sam. "You have to be in it too, Sam!"

Chris shakes his head incredulously. He snorts. So much for no excuses.

Then Ashley, plucking the camera out of her hands, shoves a reluctant, muttering, head-shaking Sam towards the group who slots into Ashley's space in the group with ease.

Ashley's eyes glint from behind the camera and she's playing a mischievous game with her lips as she smirks at Chris. Chris rolls his eyes but he can't help but laugh. There's always a loophole. And, damn well, Ashley is always going to find it.

"Everyone say," Ashley grins, holding the camera up to her face, her finger hovering over the button-slash-trigger, "Adult Responsibilities!"

With a great deal of triumph, Chris yells it into the air, grabbing his graduation cap and throwing it up into the air.

CLICK!

"Hey," Sam hisses, nudging him sharply in the side with her elbow. If he didn't know better, he'd think she has a knife stashed up there or something. The cap comes spinning down from the air and flops onto the grass with a thud. "You actually have to get _graduated_ first before you do that."

Chris blinks. His lips twitch sheepishly. "Oh."

* * *

Her thumb flicks across her cellphone screen, a giggle escaping every five seconds as a new photograph appears. Sam had posted the graduation pictures half an hour ago. And now, instead of actually sleeping, Ashley is on facebook.

A year and a half ago, when Ashley had finally plucked up the courage to add everyone on facebook, she had been surprised Sam even had an account.

"I thought facebook would be too mainstream for you?" Ashley had hummed questioningly midway through crunching her salad upon salad roll at their usual canteen table. Ashley had discovered how guilty she felt about eating bacon in front of the openly vegan Sam.

At that moment, Sam had looked at Ashley pointedly as if to say, 'I'm not _that_ hipster.' But instead she had just raised her eyebrows and plainly stated, as if it was the most universal truth in the whole, well, universe; "Facebook was mainstream ten years ago."

Which, like everything Sam ever says, is true.

The next photograph skims onto the screen and Ashley laughs. This was one that Ashley had taken of the whole group. She'd managed to catch the perfect moment; Mike and Emily were mid-bickering, Jessica was trying to keep her hair away from her lipgloss – all the while batting Matt with a face full of it. Hannah had been trying to straighten Beth's headband – somehow, someone had managed to pry her beanie away from her – and Beth was shoving her away, while Sam had been, all this time, trying to tell everyone to be sensible.

And Chris had just simply been beaming brightly straight into the camera.

Or at her, but she'd tried not to think about it.

Ashley smiles. She likes this photo. She'd liked that moment.

Because in it, everyone is real.

And it had been at that exact moment when a sneaky Josh Washington – who had come to support his sisters – had slipped behind the group, pulled a tongue-out face and victoriously given Chris bunny ears. Ashley had snorted the moment she had snapped the picture.

She likes Josh Washington.

He is a good friend.

She flicks over to the next photo. And pauses.

It's an action shot. Well, you could call it that but it's fairly mundane. Sam has managed to catch a picture of Matt chatting to Ashley, who is laughing at one of his nonchalant jokes. And Beth is rolling her eyes at his other side. In the background, Hannah and Jess are together, both of them flicking at their hair. But they both seem distracted by somebody off camera. Ashley won't be surprised if it was Mike.

Then it hits Ashley. This is it. This is them now. The five of them.

Sam and Chris and Mike and Josh and Emily. They've all graduated, heading out into the wild, ravenous world. And now _they_ , the other five,are the stragglers. The left overs. The group to bring up the rear.

Something hollow inside Ashley's chest throbs.

Ashley has known the ten of them almost as long as she has known Chris. Almost two years now. And, despite how disjointed and different and dramatic they all are, Ashley has come to love them in a way. To feel like a puzzle piece clicked into place. To feel like she has friends.

Now the ten are halved.

Ashley sighs, swiping away the photo. Her smile returns at the following, spirit lifting photo; a shot of a playful Chris and Josh ambushing Ashley towards the camera, squishing her between the two of them as they grin towards the lens. In it, she's grumbling through a smile.

She giggles, relieved, feeling herself warming at the picture. Chris' calm eyes are calming even through a phone screen. She doesn't have to worry about anything right now.

Not when she has Summer to enjoy.

With all nine of her friends.

A serene smile claims her lips as she clicks the photo and selects _add as profile picture_.


End file.
